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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25323943">Illegitimi non carborundum</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethevibeyouseek/pseuds/bethevibeyouseek'>bethevibeyouseek</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wentworth (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:47:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,143</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25323943</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethevibeyouseek/pseuds/bethevibeyouseek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If I'm being honest, I have no idea how to summarize this... Wentworth AU </p><p>This fiction is very very very loosely (and not accurately) inspired by the book and television series, 'A Handmaid's Tale' by Margaret Atwood.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Franky Doyle/Bridget Westfall</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fiction is very very very loosely (and not accurately) inspired by the book and television series, 'A Handmaid's Tale' by Margaret Atwood.</p><p>If you are unfamiliar with the series, please read the warnings.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Blessed be the fruit<em><br/>
<br/>
<em>May the lord open<em></em></em></em></em>
</p><p>
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</p><p>Bridget had never seen such a shade of green before in her life. She’d known forest green from her numerous hikes during childhood with her father. She’d memorized the deep shade of the leaves as they trudged down warn pathways deeper and deeper into the woods. She’d seen the seafoam green of the oceanview she passed each day on her way to school seated in the second row of her school bus. She’d always made sure to switch sides so she could see the long stretch of rippling tides. She remembered the army green of her father’s uniform as she hugged him tightly before leaving on his next deployment. But none of those colors could compare to the shade of green she found herself lost in.<br/>
<br/>
What color was it? Emerald? Olive even? The hue haunted her dreams at night. She found herself waking up in a cold sweat with those green eyes burned into the back of her own eyelids. She found herself wanting to see them more and more as time continued on. She craved to see them rise from their continuous position cast downward on the floor. Internally she begged to lift them upwards from a delicate touch under the chin. The only time she got to see them up close was as they stared up blankly at the ceiling with her head in her lap...and with a man between her legs. But as much as she longed to see them staring back at her own eyes, she knew that if she were to be met with them directly, she’d be burned alive by their heat. Behind the beautiful green lay a burning fire. Bridget wanted to be consumed by those smoldering eyes. Her heart hurt to sit by and watch the flames grow smaller and smaller, but it hurt even more to know that she was the reason.</p><p>
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</p><p>Ofderek had arrived at the Channing household after a tumultuous stay with the Stewarts. Mr. Channing was desperate for another toy to play with while his wife was just desperate for a child of her own. Franky was unable to give either of them what they wanted. She left in the back of an escort car with her minimal belongings and an imprint of a red hand painted across her cheek. She’d been grateful for their Martha, a pair of eyes to watch over her. She had hoped that by being removed from the home would bring her peace. In another life she would have prayed for mercy, but she didn’t pray anymore, not when it was clear that no one was listening to her pleas.<br/>
<br/>
When she’d arrived at her new lodging, she first marveled at the size. The home was twice maybe even three times the size of her former residence. Creeping up the sides of the home were long stretches of green vines. She silently wondered how strong they were. If they’d be able to hold her weight as she crawled out a window in the dead of night. She shook her head with a small scoff, as if she’d get further than the end of the block before being caught like a fish on a hook. She’d never make it to her sweet girl. No, instead she would bid her time and search the schools of children for her as they passed on the way to the market. Ofderek would find her first and then they’d make their escape North. But not until her girl was nestled safely back in her arms.<br/>
<br/>
Once she made her way up the drive, she waited at the entryway with her head bowed low and her hands clasped for her new patrons to greet her. She had gotten used to waiting for people in this new life. Everything happened on their time. It was one of the only ways to gain power when the very thing they wanted was laying inside of her abdomen. She’d been resorted to a womb; a functioning one was worth more than any amount of gold that remained in the world. She kept this fact buried inside her heart. She held the key to their happiness. So if making her wait for their arrival gave them the illusion of control, she’d let them have it. For now.<br/>
<br/>
Waiting there already was their Martha, dressed plainly with a bandana tied over her curly white-blonde locks. She smiled kindly trying to sooth the anxiety from the new Handmaid of their home. Already she looked healthier than their former charge, a healthy olive toned glow on her cheeks. Silently they waited together for close to thirty minutes for the heads of the house to meet them. Never once did the women in red falter. She continued to stand stoically staring at the varnished wood floors.<br/>
<br/>
Finally, the pair had arrived dressed impeccably as ever. Bridget’s blue dress matched her eyes almost perfectly and it contrasted nicely with her delicate blonde waves.<br/>
<br/>
“Blessed be,” Derek Channing spoke to the statue.<br/>
<br/>
“May the lord open,” came the cannon reply. Finally the Handmaid’s eyes flickered upwards to meet theirs and Bridget’s breath was pulled from her lungs. Her eyes were so beautiful, trapped beneath the anguish she was trying to mask.<br/>
<br/>
“What’s your name?”<br/>
<br/>
“It was Ofstewart,” she whispered softly. If her former self could see her now, meek and compliant, she would have laughed and swore loudly. Too many cattle prods from Aunt Joan had stripped her clean of her old ways.<br/>
<br/>
The couple exchanged a glance at the admission of her name. Franky knew that there were no secrets in Gilead. Hopefully her former household didn’t desecrate their opinion of her right from the very beginning.<br/>
<br/>
“We are Mr. and Mrs. Channing. Now you shall be referred to as Ofderek,”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes, sir.”<br/>
<br/>
“My wife will show you to your quarters.”<br/>
<br/>
“This way,” the blonde led her into the vast home. She showed her the essentials of the main level; the kitchen and service entrance. “This is Liz. She will be the one preparing your shopping lists for the day.” Ofderek nodded silently to the short woman.<br/>
<br/>
She then continued to show her upstairs and paused briefly at the second level.<br/>
<br/>
“This is my husband and my floor. You are not allowed on it unless it is for the ceremony or we have given you permission.” Either side of the hallway contained several closed and, no doubt, locked doors.<br/>
<br/>
“Yes, ma’am,” she whispered. <em>As if I’d want to be near either of you</em>, she pretended to roll her eyes in her head. These people were so full of themselves.<br/>
<br/>
The two continued upward to the highest level of the home that only contained two doors; one to the left and one at the very end of the hall. The woman in blue walked over and opened the door on the left.<br/>
<br/>
“Bathroom,” she motioned inside for her new ward to inspect. <em>I’ve seen a fucking bathroom before, lady</em>. She stepped closer and peaked inside. Bridget then walked to the end of the hallway and opened her quarters. The Handmaid followed her into the space and looked around its bare bones. It had all of the essentials. Pressed against one wall was a bed, slightly larger than the one at her last placement. The added length would be long enough for her tall form. She wouldn’t have to sleep with her legs pulled up to her chest any longer. There was a small dresser along the other side of the room. No doubt her belongings were already tucked safely inside. The white undergarments still made her feel like a child. They were nothing like the wild prints she had to leave behind. The petite blonde then moved to open the closet where her red robes were stored.<br/>
<br/>
“Is there anything else you need?” How about a gun?<br/>
<br/>
“No, thank you,” she responded instead.<br/>
<br/>
“Alright, I’ll leave you to get settled.” Bridget stepped towards the door before pausing on the threshold. “We’re happy you are here. We’ve wanted a child since I can remember.” She wasn’t sure what possessed her to say the words aloud. Perhaps she was trying to make the young woman feel more at ease in the current situation. No matter how much time passed, Bridget still felt terrible for the women with whom she shared her home. By some grace of god above she was able to avoid the same fate. And to think, she used to consider her malfunctioning ovaries as a negative when in actuality that had been what saved her. She wondered what kind of psychological support the women were receiving, if any at all. What kind of lasting trauma were they being put through all for the so-called greater good? It helped if she refused to think about it. Never in her life had she feigned ignorance. Until now. It was absolutely true what they said; Ignorance is bliss.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m happy to be here,” she lied. Ofderek was certain that she’d never be happy again.<br/>
<br/>
“You will try won’t you? It’s just that our last Handmaid, she…she conceived and then...” Bridget whispered, emotion causing her voice to crack. They were so close only to have her dreams ripped away.<br/>
<br/>
The Handmaid lowered her head again, her wings covering her face entirely while she gave herself time to breathe. Kimmy, she remembered. They’d known each other in a former life. They’d met in a bar and tumbled into bed with laughter bubbling out from their chests. She hid that bit of herself deep inside of her head and in the back of her mind. She knew what the fate of Gender Traitors was. She’d seen them strung up like Christmas lights on the bridge. She stamped her true feelings down in the well of her chest never letting it see the light of day. Not with so much to lose. Kimmy had been charged with murder of the unborn child and then executed in front of her sisters in red. Ofderek vowed never to meet the same fate. She would do <em>everything</em> they asked of her no matter how much her mind screamed for her not to. She would survive.<br/>
<br/>
“I will try my best,” she promised, pulling her eyes up to make contact with their blue counterparts.<br/>
<br/>
“Thank you,” Bridget smiled briefly before exiting the room and closing the door behind her.</p><p>
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</p><p>Franky finally released the breath that she had been holding. She removed her wings and her bonnet, unpinning her long brunette locks from their confines. She disrobed and revealed her hidden tattooed flesh. She remembered how Aunt Joan had looked at her with such disgust for the designs inked permanently onto her skin. It was the only thing she had left of her true self. She hung her clothes and climbed under the bed linens. She pulled down the white slip covering her chest to see the cursive ink etched just over the heart in her chest. She closed her eyes and began to whisper the same repeated lines<br/>
<br/>
“My daughter’s name is Tess Doyle, and she is five years old.” Will she even remember me? Franky wondered as she stroked the name on her chest with the pad of her thumb. When she closed her eyes she could still see her face so clearly. She could see her rosy cheeks and big smile that took up nearly all of her round little face. She longed to cup those pudgy cheeks in her hands again. She longed to kiss her forehead and brush her dark tangled hair. She held tightly to the good memories, and not the ones of her ear piercing screams as her baby was ripped from her arms. She clung to the way her sweet little voice would call her momma, not the fear painted tone as she watched her mother beaten into submission. She fought back the tears from falling. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.</p><p>
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</p><p>She then pulled up her camisole and turned her sights to the tattoo along her ribcage.</p><p>
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  <em>Illegitimi non carborundum<em></em></em>
</p><p>
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</p><p>
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</p><p>“My name is Franky Doyle, I am thirty-five years old,” she continued with her speech. “And I will not let these bastards will not grind me down. I will survive.”</p><p>
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  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW: Please please please look at the warnings before reading this chapter as it depicts non-consensual sex. If you would like to message me, I can share the edited chapter with you.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yep, I'm writing it twice. </p><p>TW: Please please please look at the warnings before reading this chapter as it depicts non-consensual sex. If you would like to message me, I can share the edited chapter with you.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Time had passed slowly during her first few weeks at the Channing residence. Franky had quickly fallen into her role and did not cause any waves or distractions. It was as if she had been there far longer than she actually had. Bridget did her best to avoid her most of the time, instead preferring to send messages through Liz. It was easier on her psyche if she didn’t have to see the woman prancing about her home. She’d seen the way her husband looked at the Handmaid. What were supposed to be stolen glances became increasingly less covert. Bridget seethed with rage knowing that they would share in something that she was not destined for.<br/>
<br/>
The night came for their first ceremony, and no one in the home was looking forward to it; especially Franky. She had been banished to the third floor to prepare herself in solitude. She lay in the bathtub and slowly washed every inch of her skin, elongating the process as much as she could. She knew she’d be refused a proper wash the next day. She longed for the days when she was able to take showers. Who would have thought something so simple would mean so much. When she’d rinsed the suds away from her body, she lay her head back against the tub and let her hands rest on her stomach. She remembered a time when her abdomen was as taught as a rubber band, but that was before 9 months of a rough pregnancy. She brushed her hand lower to feel the small raised scar left behind. Her birth plan was immediately thrown out the fucking window when Tess had other plans for her grand entrance into the world. She smiled softly at the memory. Her daughter did things on her own time. They shared the same independent spirit split from mother at her birth. She remembered the feeling of the warm infant being placed onto her chest for the first time solidifying the bond between them. It was as if she’d been able to break a part of herself off and cast it into the world. Now without her daughter, she always felt like a bit of her soul was missing.</p><p>A knock at the door woke her from her memories.</p><p>“It’s almost time, are you finished?” Liz asked as kindly as she could with worry lying beneath her words. She didn’t want the young woman to meet the wrath of Mr. Channing yet. And especially not on the night of the first ceremony.<br/>
“Yes,” Franky lied and quickly jumped out of the tub and dried herself off hurriedly. She dressed in a flash, the process was almost instinctual as many times as she had pulled on the ghastly uniform. Red used to be one of her favorite colors. But now she dreamed of a day when she would never wear the color again. She pinned up her hair and placed the bonnet over her head before opening the door. Liz smiled weakly at her.<br/>
<br/>
“Ready?” Liz could have hit herself at her words. Ready? Was anyone really ready for this ceremonious assault? She thought of her Sophie, experiencing the same fate somewhere in this godforsaken world.<br/>
<br/>
Unable to form a proper response with her heartbeat throbbing in her ears, Franky nodded quickly. Liz reached and squeezed her hand gently as if to say, ‘I’m sorry that I’m leading you to your inevitable demise.’ Franky’s lips turned upwards briefly at the gentle act of kindness. Silently they walked downstairs to the Commander and his wife’s floor, where she waited on her knees for the pair to begin this horrific ceremony.<br/>
<br/>
Franky wondered who had actually created it. Why was it meant to be done just so? Was it to allow the Handmaids to pretend that they were fulfilling their duty without calling it what it actually was? It had taken Franky six months to finally be able to shut herself off during the planned assaults. Six silent panic attacks from her bedroom as she hyperventilated into her pillow. Even so, with someone new the fear returned. Eventually when her knees felt like screaming from their position on the hardwood floor, the couple entered the room. Finally, Franky thought. They performed all the necessary ritualistic steps, said the words, and then it was time.<br/>
<br/>
She laid back resting her head in the women’s lap behind her. Please don’t look at me, Franky pleaded. She could get over what was happening between her legs, but she would never get used to the fierce eye contact between Haidmaid and wife. At least it was that way with her former family...she cringed at the word family, but she could think of no other word to describe it.<br/>
Thankfully Bridget showed her grace. She stared blankly in another world. Unable to look at her husband or Franky. Instead they floated unfocused to a spot on the floor. Franky stared at the canopy above them and swallowed hard as he began. She willed the tears back, not willing to show weakness.<br/>
<br/>
When he’d finished, he dressed and left the room without a word, leaving the pair of women on the bed to wait. The worst part of the whole ordeal was the end. Unable to run away and hide in shame, she was forced to lay there and wait. She continued to stare upwards as she counted the minutes before she could flee.<br/>
<br/>
“Do you feel anything?” Bridget asked foolishly.</p><p><em>Yeah, your husband’s jizz dripping down my leg.</em> She thought disgustedly.</p><p>“I’m sorry that was a stupid question.” Bridget shook her head, no doubt embarrassed that the words had actually left her lips. When the clock finally struck, Franky moved to get up only to have Bridget's hand stop her by the shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
“Just another half hour please?”<br/>
<br/>
It was then that Franky knew she hated this woman. Forced to lay longer in the wife’s lap of her new rapist.She did what she was told. When the clock struck again, she glanced up and her eyes connected with Bridget’s, a silent plea.<br/>
<br/>
<em>Please. I can’t hold my tears back much longer.</em><br/>
<br/>
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”<br/>
<br/>
Franky bit her tongue to stop whatever crass comment was about to fly out of her mouth. She lifted herself from bed and pulled her knickers back up, careful not to expose herself to the women in blue. She stepped on shaky legs stumbling briefly, towards the locked door in front of her. No matter how many times, she would never get used to the sore feeling that remained as a reminder.<br/>
<br/>
“Are you okay?” Bridget asked with a tone of concern.<br/>
<br/>
<em>Am I okay? Are you fuckin' serious, lady? </em><br/>
<br/>
“Can I go please?” Franky’s voice shook, about to break at any moment. She didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing her crack.<br/>
<br/>
Bridget freed her, and Franky walked as quickly as she could to hide back in her room in shame. As she began to cry in bed, she glanced down at her tattoos as a reminder of why she was doing this. She cried herself to sleep with her arms wrapped around her body and fell into a restless sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading. Comments and constructive feedback are always welcome...But seriously, I'm like Tinkerbell and I need applause to live. (Just kidding)'</p><p>Also, I know that it's a long shot, but I always am searching for a beta to proof-read a few segments of my pieces.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Normally after ceremonies Handmaids were given the decency of staying hidden in their rooms the next day, careful to avoid physical activity. At least Franky didn’t have to see any of their faces for a day, or so she thought.<br/><br/>Unable to stay away, Bridget snuck upstairs with a plate of food. Upon reflection, she felt terrible for what she’d done to the poor woman. Forced to lay longer in that bed. Why had she done it? The answer was simple; Bridget would do anything to have a child.<br/><br/>There was once a time when she stood for something, back when she had principles to uphold. But those days were long gone, burned in the ruins of the University where she had taught for so many years before her title, and in turn, her passion disappeared into the new world. She did what she had to do, she reasoned with herself each morning. She cut ties with her chosen queer family, the very ones that had welcomed her with open arms. She could read the writing on the wall, it was only a matter of time before they began rounding them up. History seemed doom to eternally repeat herself. Bridget was determined not to be one of them. Fleeing for the borders was futile, she’d seen countless videos of raids before televisions altogether were banned. You can’t fear what you don’t see, right? She had been presented with two viable options; assimilate or die. Bridget’s survival instinct prevented her from doing the latter, although she had considered it many times. So she faked her way into a loveless marriage with Derrek Channing. She knew full-well that there was no fear of a physical relationship between the two because of her inability to procreate. And that was the total goal of this new world, wasn’t it? There were days that she was no longer able to recognize the person staring blankly back at her in the mirror. What had she become? And at what cost?<br/><br/>Carefully she opened the door to the small room to see her ward curled with her back towards the door.<br/><br/>“OfDerrek?” she whispered quietly, so as not to startle her ward, but she failed miserably.<br/><br/>“Fuck!” Franky swore as she jumped in fright. She dropped the book she had<br/><br/>been reading down the crack between the bed and the wall. It landed unceremoniously on the hardwood floor with a thud. Unsure of how to proceed, Franky sat up slowly on the bed, preparing herself for her dismissal. Strike Two, she thought. “I’m sorry, it just slipped out. It won’t happen again,” she tried to give her best apology for her sailor mouth. Maybe if she laid it on thick, Bridget would forget about the contraband underneath her bed. No luck.<br/><br/>In Bridget’s hands was a plate of food, Franky could only assume was for her. And here she was committing one of the cardinal sins of Handmaid’s and women everywhere.<br/><br/>“Are you reading?” Bridget whispered. Their eyes stayed locked. Franky’s in fear, Bridget’s in genuine curiosity. She set the plate down on top of the dresser so she could investigate further.<br/><br/>“Yes,” the brunette whispered, knowing that she had no choice but to respond. She reached underneath the bed and slowly retrieved the tattered old book. She held it out for Bridget to take. Somehow she’d been able to swipe it from her first home and it had followed her ever since, tucked away in the ripped lining of her suitcase. The booksleeve had been lost years ago, so Bridget had to open it to see the title.<br/><br/>“You like poetry?” Bridget asked, seeing the familiar names in the index. Franky nodded. “Who is your favorite?”<br/><br/>Franky couldn’t speak.<br/><br/>“You’ve read it many times, you have to have one or two,” the blonde coaxed. There wasn’t an angry bone in her body, instead she was intrigued.<br/><br/>“E.E. Cumings,” Franky said. Bridget nodded and then handed the book back.<br/><br/>“Are you hungry?” She changed the subject.<br/><br/>“You’re not going to take it?” Bridget shook her head, in response to Franky’s question. “Are you going to tell?” She shook her head again. She had caused enough pain in this poor girl’s life, shouldn’t she be allowed at least one book? It seemed so trivial when in reality, it was Franky’s lifeline. That book was her one last link to the past.<br/><br/>“Thank you,” Franky whispered, completely shocked.<br/><br/>“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, but just make sure it’s out of sight in the daytime.”<br/><br/>“Of course.”<br/><br/>Bridget retrieved the plate once more. “Are you hungry? Liz says you haven’t eaten much today.”<br/><br/>Franky nodded and accepted the plate.<br/><br/>“I’ll leave you be,” the blonde turned to leave.<br/><br/>“Bridget?”<br/><br/>“Yes?”<br/><br/>“...Thank you.” She said again, fully meaning it for once. Bridget smiled softly and closed the door behind her.</p>
<p>The next morning when Franky awoke, her empty plate was gone, and in its place was a copy of an E.E. Cumings anthology. She smiled softly. Maybe she could bear this place after all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>i carry your heart with me(i carry it in</p>
<p>my heart)i am never without it(anywhere</p>
<p>i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done</p>
<p>by only me is your doing,my darling)</p>
<p>- e.e. cumings </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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